


Fooled around and fell in love

by Catharrington



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bottom Steve Harrington, Doctor/Patient, M/M, Massage, Porn With Plot, Sexual Tension, Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Billy Hargrove, doctor Billy Hargrove, hockey player Steve Harrington, massage oil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:01:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25758508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catharrington/pseuds/Catharrington
Summary: Playing hockey in college is a rough gig, causes lots of injuries. Lots of bruises, pulled muscles, sore spots. Lucky for Steve Harrington, one of the best players on the team, there is a new physical therapy doctor fresh from California that knows the best ways to relax that tightness; Dr. Billy Hargrove.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 7
Kudos: 191





	Fooled around and fell in love

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt given to me by lovely Highnon on tumblr first ;)

Steve skated towards the exit gate with a hiss of pain, clutching his side where one of his teammates sticks had broken over it. He didn’t want to listen to his coach and get it checked out. He actually insisted on continuing practice. 

That was until a friendly pat on the back had his breath shortening in his chest, his ribs seizing up, and his legs giving out. So it became less of a suggestion, and more of an order.

Stepping off the ice and across to the locker room, Steve changed out of his seemingly not thick enough padding and jersey for his street clothes. A skimpy pair of shorts almost pastel in their spearmint green color, and a cut off tshirt that once read a band name and is now too faded from sweat and washing detergent to decipher. Skating got him cold, but hockey practice always left Steve over-heated so he didn’t like to wear much after.

Now, however, as he lifts his duffel bag and skates tied together with their laces over his shoulder, and carries his stick in his hand like a wizard on an adventure, his tiny shorts feel a little silly.

He’s got to make the trek across his university campus to the infirmary. Any other day, Steve would dump his stuff in his car and maybe drive his car. But it’s sunny outside so he walked to the closed off air conditioned auditorium. Of course.

The sun comes down on his back as he thinks about the physical therapist he’s walking towards. Hargrove, Doctor Hargrove, if one can even be a doctor of giving massages. He’s just transferred down from being a football teams specialist in California and he shows it. Young and talented. All sun kissed skin and rippling surfer muscles. The type of guy to pull his long blond hair back into a pony tail and roller blade down a boardwalk with cut off jeans on— and only cut of jeans on.

Steve shivers with the image.

But it’s real life that has those shivers crawling as goosebumps up the patch of hair on Steve’s chest and to his neck. It’s the real life Doctor Hargrove that wears sun faded button up shirts left unbuttoned just a smudge unprofessionally. And the real life pair of gold wire frame glasses he keeps on the tip of his button nose. Looks over them with a smile when he’s listening to Steve’s story of his visit. Doesn’t judge, just smiles perfect teeth. Makes Steve feel warm all over no matter how much pain he’s in.

And damn, that’s not great. Having a school boy crush on a Doctor he’s only meet three times. That’s not going to keep his scholarship he so desperately needs.

So Steve tries harder, pushing himself to skate faster and shoot straighter and shove bastards up against the glass. Prove he’s good as hell at hockey. But that leads to more accidents. More injuries. And now he’s here, in front of the quaint little therapy office, for a forth time this season.

“Harrington,” the receptionist calls as soon as he comes through the door.

Steve smiles sheepishly back at her, dumping his equipment off on a coffee table littered with magazines before he goes up to her window. “How’s it going?” he tries to lean casually but ends up wincing in pain.

She’s not impressed, sympathetic, but not impressed. She doesn’t look down as she picks up her phone and presses two buttons before saying his name out loud again. It’s only a short call, just to get Doctor Hargrove out, just to hear those unprofessional boots hitting the linoleum floor.

“Stevie,” Doctor Hargrove opens the door with a salty breeze of ocean air. Catches Steve right on his jaw with how he’s got his hair pulled back in a loose pony tail. His wire frames folded to the pocket of his shirt making it weigh down teasingly showing off more tanned skin. Steve licks his lips and tries to focus on the doctor’s words as he starts speaking.

“Your coach called me and let me know what happened. A whole stick cracked over your back? I gotta say— that’s pretty hardcore to take and keep trying to play… for a pretty boy like you.” He ends the last with a wink.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m here? The best care for the school’s best player?” Steve tries to casually complement him. Remind him it’s professional.

“The best care, and the best hands… all for you, Stevie,” Doctor Hargrove smirks.

He gets his words thrown right back to him with a flirty force strong as California sun burns. Makes Steve blush up his legs and under his shorts to the softest part of inside his thighs. Steve can only giggle, running a hand over the sweaty back of his neck while keeping his head down.

“Lets get started, I’ve got you all set up,” he steps aside to hold the door open. Steve doesn’t want to go, doesn’t want to let himself get too close. But at the same time he craves it, yerns for it, would beg for it, if it would make a difference.

So he leaves his huge bag of equipment in the safety of the waiting room and scoots past his physical therapist close enough to make his mouth water.

“Last door,” the Doctor whispers directions into the narrow hallway. Steve goes quickly to the open doorway. Settles inside in a not settled way, clutching his arms across his stomach as he watches Doctor Hargrove ready about.

One hand motions Steve over while the other slides across a massage table’s plush leather. A long dark cream colored thing he’s familiar with. Each massage is simple, lets Steve keep a pair of shorts on the whole time, stands him up nicely with a hand to his lower back, and leaves him feeling all together lighter and heavier at the same time.

“Shirt off, lay down, call me Billy,” he starts listing off more orders. They sound so good.

Steve follows easily. Yanking his shirt off, rustling his shoulder length brown hair, and going to the table to lay down right at his doctor’s beck and call. “Billy,” he tests the name on his mouth lastly. He knew Hargrove’s name was William— but Billy tasted so much better.

“Stevie,” Billy says as he hovers his hands over his naked back, “this whole side of your ribs are going to bruise.” He makes a tisk sound with his mouth like he’s scolding him. Makes Steve’s breath hitch. “I’m going to feel around, make sure nothing is broken or misplaced. Let me know if you feel any shifting or pain.” 

Then fingers are on Steve’s side, playing with his skin to shift it around and feel the ladder of his bones. Wide fingers that are well used with calloused tips, but somehow soft and warm. Sand underfoot on a beach you know is made of tiny glass shards but you cannot help but to burry your hands up to your wrists in its warmth.

Steve shivers again, doesn’t moan. “Just super sore,” he replies. And yes, there isn’t any sharp pain or poke, just his skin clouding over in purple as his muscles throw a fit from being abused.

“Then that’s good,” Billy hums. His hands leave only for a moment. Steve doesn’t have to look. He can hear a clicking top of a bottle and the tell tale sounds of wet hands rubbing against each other. Warming up. Steve puts his face as flush into the fluffy pillow of the table as possible to hide his dusty rose cheeks.

“I believe a deep massage right now will do you well. Loosen up the tension and bring healing blood circulating back to the bruise. Get it nice and worked out, hum? That sound good, Stevie?” Billy prattles on but hasn’t touched him yet.

Steve doesn’t reply, he’s thinking about why and when Billy considered it okay to call him Stevie. A part of him realizes he’s been doing it since their first meeting.

Before his mind wanders too far, there’s two warm hands palming his shoulder blades. Wet and sopping in oil that slides across his skin easily. Melts his stiff back good enough to make his eyes flutter closed. Steve wills his arms to come from his sides up to wrap around his head, uses them like a makeshift pillow when he has a perfectly fine one, really uses his flushed skin to bite down on.

“This is a brand new oil I had delivered here from California,” Billy makes small talk as if his hands weren’t working circles into the top of Steve’s tense muscled back hard and deep enough to make him see stars. “It’s organic and world peace, all that stuff. Made with real hemp oil local to there. Really supposed to do the trick.”

“Hemp oil?” Steve purrs out. Doesn’t really registers he’s done it until his mouth is already open and dragging the L noise through the back of his throat. He clamps his mouth shut. Presses his forehead into his pillow.

Billy only laughs over him. His hands working down and down, working right where Steve’s spine dips. Rubbing long lines in and out the dip with his two thick thumbs every inch and sends an electric shockwave of pleasure. Does it unhindered and unbothered and so professionally it’s making Steve’s toes curl in his Nikes.

“Yeah hemp,” Billy keeps talking. “They are really looking into it back home. All the uses. Oil, of course, but then there’s the seeds they can use to make flower, and the plant itself can make fibers for rope or clothes. Imagine that, hum? A shirt made from hemp?”

Billy’s hands are down at Steve’s Venus dimples. Right above the waist band of his pastel mint shorts. The oil is soaking into his skin making him feel drunk. The pressure of the fingers are turning his body numb in the best, the very best, of highs. Steve isn’t paying attention anymore, he’s got his eyes closed and his tussled hair falling over his face. 

Only hums back for a second as a reply. Doesn’t care the hum comes out much too deep and long. And then comments without filtering. “I imagine some hemp rolled into a joint would be pretty good right about now.”

That earns him a laugh. And Billy’s pressing his thumbs directly into his Venus dimples as he lets the laughter roll through his fingers.

Steve wasn’t ready, can’t stop the moan that comes out of his mouth. He tries to catch it with a hand slapped to lips but it’s too late. Billy’s fingers are gone. There’s a list of apologies already forming on Steve’s tongue, but then those fingers are back. Not back on his skin, but pushing lightly against the waist band of his shorts.

One hand teasing right where they sit over a hip, the other hand pressing into the bruise on his side. But not his hand, something else. Something long and thin and curved off at the tip.

“Billy?” Steve shivers again. Wishes he had all those fingers back.

“I’d like to try something else new, if you’d permit me?” Billy asks. The object tracing around his ribs. Putting more pointed pressure down on them then fingers could. Making Steve’s breath fully catch with how his body can only mold around the solid object.

“This is a massage stick. It’s wooden, hand carved out of real cherry oak. It’s supposed to calm and relax and also reach where I couldn’t with my fingers.” The round tip traces one rib all the way from Steve’s stomach to his spine. Leaves a trail of oil as it goes. Billy must have gotten it dripping wet with the stuff.

Steve moves his hand off his lips, groans as soon as he does, but recovers with a soft nod. “Oh— Okay,” he permits Billy to continue. Steve moves his hand up to get a fist in his hair in an attempt to shut himself up.

“Good, boy,” Billy growls out over him, his tone changed. Warm sand sweltering under the hot sun. Steve’s skin blistering where his fingers are still playing with his waist band.

“Let me take these down, just a little, don’t want to get oil all over your shorts?” and his voice is gravel rough and sickly sweet all at the same time. And better, he’s bent over whispering right into the back of Steve’s neck. His breath his fire scorching over the long hairs that curl over the nape of Steve’s neck. Making them blow in his wind and also get wet and tacky all at the same time.

Steve yanks the fist of his own hair he has hard, trying to swim back to the surface. It doesn’t work. He only drags out another moan, sluty, needy, and at the end of it begs, “yes, oh, yes,” in a chant.

Billy listens, sliding his shorts down just so they clear the curve of Steve’s ass. The waist band hooking under his shapely cheeks to make them plump up even more. One hand splays over his ass. Palms him easy and whole like a fucking basket ball. Billy’s hand still wet and soft with the oil gives his cheek a testing squeeze that makes Steve whimper and buck into the massage table.

It’s embarrassing, but Steve can’t think. Can only smell Billy’s cologne, his own cock hard and dripping pre cum in his shorts, and good weed.

The massage stick moves from his ribs to the small of his back. Testing their muscles like before, making them give in easy ways fingers couldn’t. Billy rubs before he starts dragging the stick up the dip of Steve’s spine. He’s pushing hard but not painful, not enough to bother the curve of each disk in his spine but enough to pressure each muscle to a romantic numb feeling.

Billy takes the stick up and down twice, letting Steve’s posture completely change under the treatment, arching up into the touch, before he drags it down farther. Over the knot of his spine at the very bottom. 

Then the slickness of the oil drips down the crack of his ass. Steve’s eyes snap open, screwed shut focusing on his haggard breathing, now he has to stop himself from thinking he’s dreaming.

Doctor Hargrove, Doctor dream boat, shirt left unbuttoned because he’s an asshole who loves to put on a show. Knows exactly how beautiful the rippling waves in his blue eyes are. Knows he promises with each muscle and motion to the domination he could have over those waves if he only had a surfboard.

It’s almost a dream. He’s got those hands on Steve’s body, asking Steve for permission and taking the reigns at the same time. Steve’s good at skating and chasing a puck. He was raised under thick trees in a dark forest and cold winters practicing on his skates with the headlights of his car the only light. He’s not used to the glare of the sun, not used to how his leaves unfurl under the attention. 

He’s embarrassed, but god he can’t help it. He wants it. 

Billy keeps moving the massage stick down, over the curve of his ass and gets the oil spread all over his hole. Gets the side of the stick rubbing on him long, hard, dominating every inch of him.

“Holy shit,” Steve finally lets out in a breathy coil. His arms fold under the pillow to press it hard to his face. While his thighs press together in a full body shiver, his hips arching up off the table for more friction.

The pillow is stifling his whimpers and moans, Billy seems to notice. He gets the hand not occupied with the massage stick to trail up Steve’s back. Dragging his thick, heavy fingers up to run through the length of Steve’s brown hair at the back of his head.

Billy gets his fingers buried in their damp length and pulls Steve’s head out of the pillow.

“Holy fuck, Billy,” Steve lets out unhindered. His neck pulling taught as he chants out, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” then drops into wordless moans.

“Yeah, I knew you’d love this, pretty boy,” Billy murmurs right into his ear.

His hand is still moving, up and down, before the rounded tip catches lightly on the rim of his hole. Steve whimpers desperately, arching up so the well oiled tip pushes easily right in. Billy keeps his wrist straight as the wood inches inside, positively growls as Steve fucks himself on it. Pulling his hair tighter, yanking his head back makes his back arch even more, Steve moans out as his knees push his ass up higher. He’s letting Billy play him like an instrument.

And honestly, Steve doesn’t care he’s letting Billy play him like an instrument. The only thing he’s thinking about is the thick fingers gripping his hair and the hard shaft of wood working inside him.

It’s been a while for Steve, trying to maintain a good grade point average and be the best at a difficult sport, he hasn’t been fucked in a while. 

His rim opens slowly, dragging slightly painfully as the massage stick goes deep. But the oil is slick and the wood is smooth. He whimpers out a soft gasping noise as he feels Billy’s knuckles brush against his ass cheek.

Billy keeps his fist around the base of the massage stick, twists it so his hand is flush with Steve’s skin, sinking the wood as far inside as he’ll let it go. He manages to keep an air of professionalism, much to Steve’s disappointment, as he rolls his wrist to push in and out. Dragging until the rounded off head is almost out then pushing right back in knuckle deep.

Steve’s straining, pulled taut between Billy’s fist and his own eagerness to get filled with whatever he can reach. His back straining beautifully in a way that hurts his muscles as much as massages them. 

If he could stay like this, head yanked back and practically sitting up on his knees to get his ass out, for hours he would. But his cock is still trapped in his skimpy little shorts. His cock is dripping wet pre cum that’s leaving a wet spot almost up to his navel. There’s a smell of it in the scented air. And with each thrust of Billy, those languid and deep thrusts of the massage stick inside his ass, the tip of Steve’s cock presses into the leather of the table.

“Bill— Billy,” Steve struggles to get out, struggles to keep his balance with how he’s wiggling and whimpering around. “Please, I want to cum,” he begs.

Then generously, with his own low groan breathed right into Steve’s ear, Billy picks up the pace. Starts thrusting the massage stick short but fast, tilting the head downward to spear into Steve just correct and earn him a sob.

“Yes, fuck yes, Billy,” Steve’s thighs are shaking, his arms that are trying to hold himself up to Billy’s mercy are quivering. His muscles crafted so skillfully for his sport melting sticky, hot under the California sun. Sugar water dripping down Billy’s arms in the middle of the afternoon while he gives his popsicle one lazy lick root to tip.

Inside his shorts, Steve comes a jagged thrusting mess of white. Pumps himself to the same neck breaking thrusts Billy keeps pushing against his prostate with. It’s embarrassing, to cum first and untouched. But the leather is enough to rut against and milk himself with. Dry humping the bed like he’s a teenager again with his magazine of David Hasselhoff lounged out half naked across the hood of his car.

Billy lets his head drop back to the pillow. A kind allowance, let’s Steve’s cries get muffled into the cotton pillow. The massage stick comes out slowly, careful of his sore rim. Steve isn’t thinking about much other than how fucking good he feels until he feels velvet softness press on his ass.

He pushes himself up on one elbow and strains over his shoulder, hurts like hell. But he gets to see Billy, Doctor Hargrove, taking his own cheery red cock out the front of his unzipped jeans and pumping himself mean over Steve’s ass. His lips are glossy and swollen, parted in a groan, and his chest left open by his shirt is flushed with sweat. His doctors coat is open and disheveled, one side fallen off his shoulder. The side he ain’t using to jack himself off on his patient’s ass.

Light blue eyes swirled with sea foam green look upwards at Steve. Catches his own big brown eyes like a cat catching a bird out the sky. With a smile.

He cums like that, making eye contact, smiling with his mouth open and his white teeth sparkling. His tongue rolling out one side just to lick over his fat bottom lip in a tease. His cum shoots fat across Steve’s exposed ass, making it just as glossy as Billy’s lips.

With one hand he pumps himself dry, Steve watching as he shakes with the effort, then uses the other to tuck himself back into his jeans and zip up. Billy has a smile on his face that’s faded slightly from his leering, made softer. He takes both hands and palms them against Steve’s ass. Kneading the muscles of his cheeks, working his cum into the skin just as skillfully as he worked the hemp oil.

“Stevie,” he leans back over. Steve drops himself from his elbow as Billy comes in close. Sinking back down to the pillow to lay across it, helplessly falling away from those lips. “Feel better after that treatment?” 

And Billy knows what he’s doing. He leans as far forward as he can, getting his mouth ghosting across Steve’s jaw. Laying open mouthed kisses long his sharp bone as he waits for a reply.

Steve works on one with his spent throat. Struggling slightly to make any noise other than a mewl. Finally he rasps, “feels much better, Doctor.”

Billy giggles at that, right in his ear again. His breath tickling Steve’s hair. “You’re such a good boy for me, Stevie. Let me fix you up perfectly. Let me ruin that pretty ass just right?”

“Billy,” and it’s more of a longing plea than a name. 

Steve full body shudders on the table as if he’s cuming again when Billy blows a soft breath of air past his ear to lay more kisses. His thick wet tongue curls around Steve’s ear lobe and licks, one long swipe around to the tip, his glossy lips catching all the messy strands of Steve’s hair going everywhere. His tongue moves past. Then he presses one last kiss to the side of his forehead before moving away.

There’s a second’s tick as Steve realizes he’s supposed to move and get up, and the knowledge that he simply doesn’t want to. Groaning out he finally does, pushing himself up and onto shaky legs. Feeling like a doe on thin wavering legs stepping out to the slippery sands of a beach for the first time. He pushes off the table wearily. Reaching for his shirt he discarded on a nearby chair. And oh, thankfully finding a dispenser of paper towels he grabs a fist of to clean his shorts off.

Billy’s still close. A lingering presence right behind Steve as he works around the Doctor’s office. Watching him from those blue eyes predator hungry. Steve wants to rolls his eyes, the man seems starved, but Steve also wants to try for a swim. See where else they can take that old massage table to.

For a moment, they stay quiet, stay smiling. The cramped examination room very warm now. Steve pulls on his shirt and starts working on wiping the inside of his shorts clean. He feels Billy come up along side him before he can hear him. Even smells his cologne again. The lingering hemp oil on his hands that now reach up to trail along the sensitive skin between Steve’s elbow and his shoulder.

“Want to schedule a follow up? Let’s say?,” and Billy trails off. Steve turns over his shoulder to look at him. His dark eyebrows high on his pretty face and his eyelashes long.

Steve swallows, “Saturday? At 8?” He blurts.

There’s a moment of hesitation on Billy’s face, his thick brows knitting together on his forehead for a second before that wild wolf grin he was wearing as they walked into the back room earlier. “You asking me on a date, Stevie?”

Throwing the towels into the waste basket to clear up his hands, Steve spins in Billy’s arms. He looks up, meets bright blue eyes, wants to watch as his hands trail over the shirt still spread wide on his chest but doesn’t want to look away. Steve nervously plays with the golden wire framed glasses still tucked into Billy’s pocket.

“Yeah, I am,” he says. “My apartment. Got a nice one just a few blocks from campus. Tiny. But decent kitchen. I make a great red sauce pasta, at least that’s what my nana says.”

Billy nods along. Smile turns a little more kitten than wolf as Steve mentions his old nana. “Pasta, your apartment, Saturday at 8? Sounds like a fairy tale date, pretty boy. I won’t miss it for the world.”

Steve shrugs. Feels powerful with his fingers the ones all over Billy’s body. With his appointments and plans the ones taking up Billy’s schedule for once. He feels like sunshine. So he takes his hands and cups them over Billy’s cheeks, slids his own calloused fingers over the subtle beard there, leans in for a soft press of their lips.

Billy is smiling into the kiss. Steve smiles back just as wide. Their teeth knock together once. Steve’s nose gets squished as they move around.

He parts for a second just long enough to whisper, “bring that hemp oil with you, yeah?” before Steve’s got those dreamy lips back on his.


End file.
